“I know,” said the man addressed.  “I did my best—­and failed.  The footman Hill, knowing young Murie as a frequent guest at Glencardine, the other day showed him into the library and left him there alone.  It was then, no doubt, that he opened the safe with a false key and secured the documents.”

“Then why not apply for a warrant for his arrest?” suggested the Commendatore Cusani.  “Surely your English laws do not allow thieves to go unpunished?  In Italy we should quickly lay hands on them.”

“But we have no evidence.”

“You have no suspicion that any other man may have committed the theft—­that fellow Flockart, for instance?  I don’t like him,” added the Baron.  “He is altogether too friendly with everybody at Glencardine.”

“I have already made full inquiries.  Flockart was in Rome.  He only returned to London the day before yesterday.  No.  Everything points to the girl taking revenge upon her father, who, I am compelled to admit, has treated her with rather undue harshness.  Personally, I consider mademoiselle very charming and intelligent.”

They all admitted that her correspondence and replies to reports were marvels of clear, concise instruction.  Every man among them knew well her neat round handwriting, yet only Goslin had ever seen her.

The Frenchman was asked to describe both the girl and her lover.  This he did, declaring that Gabrielle and Walter were a very handsome pair.

“Whatever may be said,” remarked old Volkonski, “the girl was a most excellent assistant to Sir Henry.  But it is, of course, the old story—­a young girl’s head turned by a handsome lover.  Yet surely the youth is not so poor that he became a thief of necessity.  To me it seems rather as though he stole the documents at her instigation.”

“That is exactly Sir Henry’s belief,” Goslin remarked with a sigh.  “The poor old fellow is beside himself with grief and fear.”

“No wonder!” remarked the Italian.  “None of us would care to be betrayed by our own daughters.”

“But cannot a trap be laid to secure the thief before he approaches the people in Russia?” suggested the crafty Levantine.

“Yes, yes!” cried Volkonski, his hands still clenched.  “The Ministry would give a hundred thousand roubles for them, because by their aid they could crush me—­crush you all.  Remember, there are names there—­names of some of the most prominent officials in the Empire.  Think of the power of the Ministry if they held that list in their hands!”

“No,” said the Baron in a clear, distinct voice, his grey eyes fixed thoughtfully upon the wall opposite.  “Rather think of our positions, of the exultation of our enemies if this great combine of ours were exposed and broken!  Myself, I consider it folly that we have met here openly to-day.  This is the first time we have all met, save in secret, and how do we know but some spy may be on the boulevard outside noting who has entered here?”